John Hoffman and I are at Mike Siemsen’s School of Woodworking this weekend to film the first ever Lost Art Press DVD. This project, which yet to have a title, is basically “Fear and Loathing in Minnesota.”
There has been semi-automatic gunfire, some alcohol and peanut butter on hamburgers.
On Saturday, we took a wad of cash to the Mid-west Tool Collectors Association meet in Medina, Minn., and purchased almost all the tools we needed to build a workbench and a sawbench (we had to buy a couple buckets, a framing square and two clamps at a hardware store). Saturday afternoon we fixed up all the tools to get them into working order – including filing the saws, restoring the planes and sharpening the chisels.
Today, on Mike’s birthday, we filmed him building a sawbench and a 7’-long Nicholson workbench. Mike has figured out some really great tricks to get started with little money, few tools and almost no skills. The bench is almost building itself. I think Mike’s philosophy is going to help a lot of people get started building a bench entirely by hand.
Here’s a quick timeline of the morning and afternoon.
— Christopher Schwarz
An apron at 10:20 a.m.Top boards at 1:43 p.m.Legs at 1:52 p.m.End assembles at 2:43 p.m.First assembly at 2:53 p.m.Bearers at 4:20 p.m.Beer at 4:33 p.m.
We have often thought that if masters properly comprehended the relation they sustain to their apprentices and employees, their pecuniary interest would not only be greatly enhanced, but that a positive good would be rendered to every branch of industry in which they are engaged, as well through a more harmonious concert of action as a superior social elevation given to the worthy class under them.
To our view, this relation is somewhat analogous to that existing between parents and children, so far as the development of their minds and the instilment of sound principles of morality and industry, the encouragement of skill in manipulation, and the attainment of knowledge are concerned. We believe the observation of a celebrated master, that no one is born without capacity for some branch of industry, is a just one, and that where stupidity exists it is nothing else but neglect of proper discipline and education in the youth of the person thus unfortunately deficient.
To establish this fact it needs no fresh arguments of ours to show how extremely ductile, how capable of government and restraint, and how susceptible of instruction human nature is, when approached in the proper spirit of kindness, dignity and respect, which stimulates zeal and ambition, and produces a corresponding return.
The first duty of a master should be to present in himself an example for imitation in the elements of industry, morality, system, and the other attributes which constitute a superior mechanic or workman. There are many apprentices who have so much of the spirit of self-reliance and genius that this example is not essentially necessary; but if we pursue the reflection, and for the certainty of the rule consider (what no man can fail to observe) the effect the characters of others of a superior rank have upon those immediately connected with them, it will be obvious to all that the master, in a great measure, impresses the inferior with the prominent traits of his character.
They should, moreover, observe and study the dispositions and minds of their apprentices, with a view of conciliating their regard and confidence, and through this means to establish a free and familiar intercourse, and render the task of instruction and development more simple and easy. As the apprentices advance in knowledge and skill, suitable evidences of appreciation and encouragement should be given them. This will stimulate their ambition and exertion, and create among them a worthy spirit of emulation.
Where the character of an apprentice is such as to require a tight rein upon his actions, and the deprivation of privileges, and other suitable punishments for idleness and misconduct, care should be observed that these curbs and punishments do not descend into such acts of tyranny as will destroy the spirit and ambition of the youth, and render him obstinate, unruly, and beyond all future influences of excellence and good.
Besides a thorough instruction in his trade or profession, and a sound and healthy education to otherwise render him fit for his social position in life, it should be the aim of a master to instil into his pupil all the scientific and other knowledge possible, even should such knowledge have no direct bearing upon the business or trade in which he is engaged. Such acts of interest, kindness, and confidence as these, and others of a corresponding character, cannot fail to produce the most marked beneficial results upon the interests of the master, and the happiness and condition of the grateful apprentice.
We are still actively looking for a building for Lost Art Press that will serve as a woodworking laboratory, a home for a burgeoning library, photo studio and a place to live.
I’m investigating properties in the Covington and Newport areas every month, but I am picky and am in no hurry. This will be the place where I hope to die while standing at my bench, so I want a lot of natural northern light for that event. Hardwood floors. Exposed brick.
But in the back of my mind I’ve always wondered about taking over the Gatehouse Tavern, a long-closed medieval-themed restaurant and bar that was built during the medieval restaurant craze of the 1970s.
The Gatehouse Tavern is on one of my running routes and is part of a massive complex of faux half-timbered restaurants, a hotel, convention center, salon, offices and swimming pools in Fort Mitchell, Ky. The hotel was called The Drawbridge, and it was one of the odd centers of community in our town. Elvis look-alike convention? They’d book the Drawbridge. Mannequin convention? Cross-stitching dominatrixes? Yup. All here.
In recent years, the Drawbridge had fallen on hard times and was closed sometime last year. They sold all the suits of armor, tapestries, wooden indians and wacky shields during a fire sale this fall.
The Gatehouse Tavern (or as I call it, Castle Brown) is on the edge of the campus. It has a moat – a fricking moat – plus giant doors. And some tiny towers from which we could defend the deep fryers. I always wondered what they would sell this derelict masterpiece for.
Now I’ll never know. They’ve chained off the entire campus to tear it down and redevelop it as something more modern.
In all my years of messing about with old workbenches and their holding devices, I haven’t had much experience with the “bench knife.”
In its original form, the bench knife is nothing more than a broken piece of a dinner knife. It is used to secure boards on the benchtop for planing their broad faces. You first butt one end of your work against a stop of some kind. To secure the hind end of the board, you hammer the bench knife into both the benchtop and the end grain of the work.
Edward H. Crussell’s fantastic curmudgeonly “Jobbing Work for the Carpenter” (1914) describes it thus:
The bench knife is a tool of every-day use in Europe, but is not so well known or used in America. It is nothing but a piece of the blade of an old dinner knife about 1-1/4 or 1-1/2 in. long, and is used in lieu of a nail for holding material on the bench. It is used at the opposite end to the bench stop, being driven partly into the bench and partly into the material, as shown in Fig. 257.
For thinner stuff it is driven deeper into the bench. It is easy to apply, can be readily removed with a claw hammer, and does not mar the bench or material so badly as other forms of fastening. It is a good idea to have two or three of these bench knives because it is so easy to mislay them in the shavings.
Thanks to the worldwide butter knife shortage of 1915, ironmongers had to come up with a replacement to the simple broken knife. Most of the solutions that I see in books are a contrivance that drops into a row of bench dogs at the rear of the bench (who has a row of dogs on the rear of the bench?). Then you pull a lever that slides a thin piece of metal across the benchtop and into the end grain of the work.
I think there’s a reason that I have yet to see one of these devices in the wild: They were stupid. If you have a row of bench dogs, you could probably come up with a better way to hold the work than a mechanical doo-dad like the bench knife.
But today I saw a bench knife that I would buy and try.
Advertised in a late 19th-century magazine, this bench knife clamps to the front edge of your workbench and is infinitely adjustable. The obvious downside to this thing is that benchtop thicknesses vary a lot (1-1/2” to 4” being typical). But beyond that detail, I think the thing looks pretty smart.
This week I’m working on a magazine article on coping saws and I’d like to include a few paragraphs about its ancestors and the development of the saw.
My view is that the modern coping saw is related to the marquetry saws of the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries. A metal frame that tensions a thin blade has been a part of woodworking for about 500 years. However, if you have any evidence that I’m off base (evidence and not speculation, please, I get enough of the former), I’d like to hear from you.
Here is the rough draft of this short section. And thanks in advance!
— Christopher Schwarz
A Quick History of Coping Saws
While frame saws likely were invented by the Romans, it wasn’t until veneered marquetry was developed in the 16th century that the delicate bow saws required for the intricate work appeared.
In 1676, André Félibien published a drawing of a petite sie de marqueterie that looks all the world like a modern coping saw – you can even see that the teeth point away from the handle.
By the 18th century, these sorts of saws were sometimes called “Morris saws” – perhaps it was a bastardization of the word “Moorish” or relates to the inlaid game board for an old game called “Nine Men’s Morris.” These saws were used for all sorts of intricate cuts, both by cabinetmakers and jewelers. And the saws had blades designed to cut not only wood, but tortoise shell, brass and other semi-precious materials.
In the 19th century, the saws were commonly called “bracket saws,” and during the middle part of the century there developed quite a fretwork craze – you find advertisements for the saws and plans in publications that have nothing to do with woodwork, such as The Pacific Tourist and Beautiful Homes magazines.
Soon the saws spread to the schools, where 19th-century craft-based schools using the Sloyd system taught handwork that was based around using a knife, a “frame compass saw” and other simple tools. By the early 20th century, the saw had acquired its modern name, “coping saw,” as carpenters found the tool handy for coping inside miters when cutting moulding.
Historical purists might not agree that the coping saw is a descendant of the early marquetry saw, but from a user’s perspective these saws are functional equivalents: a metal frame that tensions a thin blade that is used for curved and intricate cuts.
